


Worse Ways to Be

by Xyriath



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Underage Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are five hundred and twenty things keeping Flame and Fullmetal apart, but neither of them have ever given up easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worse Ways to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VerboseWordsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerboseWordsmith/gifts).



> This was written as part of the RoyEd Gift exchange for tumblr user verbosewordsmith.

“You’re not planning on letting me off the hook for a very long time, are you?”

Roy’s jab, as always, has no malice behind it, spoken in jest as a means of showing affection. Edward, to his credit, doesn’t growl and snap back, only smirks.

Though the slammed door, that was a bit much.

He’s grown up, Roy thinks, and the side of his mouth curls up more fondly than he means it to.

Their eyes meet through the window, and as always, a jolt of electricity crackles down his spine. His breath catches in that too-familiar way, and for a moment, he is seized with the urge to step out of the car, grab Edward by the shoulders, and kiss him breathless. He wants to feel that adorable smirk melt away into a gasp, those lips part in surprise, the heat from Edward’s cheeks against his own face as flesh and metal hands wind around Roy’s neck, through his hair.

If Alphonse hadn’t been there, Roy would have done it, and happily.

He can still feel the tension, though, an undercurrent from the moment Ed had stepped into the car. Not that he can truly blame Ed, and when those words, words that had been teetering on the edge of his next breath for months, had finally dropped—Fuhrer, Ishval—and not from his own mouth, he knew that Ed had to be furious with him.

But then, the promise. _That_ promise. And though Roy had joked, had complained, Edward Elric’s _intensity_ at the notion that Roy Mustang would go willingly to his death, leaving both a country and a lover behind—

Despite his earlier doubts, Roy had chosen wisely.

—

Riza Hawkeye saw too much.

That was never a question, not after months into their friendship and Roy had, by then, shared everything important to him. And after that, he didn’t _truly_ need to, and they operated in the comfortable silence of unspoken-but-known. This was how things had always been, and no matter what, she had his back, no questions asked, no matter how questionable or even treasonous his intentions might be.

It was ironic, that amongst everything they had done, everything he had planned, everything he was _planning_ , that the first thing to cause him to worry that she would think ill of him was a golden young man, bright as the sun and with even more energy, and the way Roy’s heart turned somersaults every time their eyes met. And though he said nothing, he could tell from the way her eyes lingered when he turned from his conversation with Edward to see her watching, he knew that he didn’t have to.

Which, of course, was a problem in itself. After all, she was here with him, ready to defend him and support his goals, to the death if need be. All of them were. He should have known better than to let anything but practicality and ambition, love for anyone but country become a factor. He owed it to everyone here with him, everyone who had been with him, everyone who had _died_ for him in order to make those dreams possible.

And yet here he was, half-infatuated (he told himself half, anyway) with a completely unpredictable element.

He knew his reputation with women—and men—but it was carefully cultivated, and even when there was truth with it, there had never been anything serious, and for a very good reason. Roy Mustang could not afford distractions while reaching his goal, nor could he afford anything to be held against him once he did.

And though he kicked himself for the wry thought that it might be worth the risk to hold a certain something—someone—else against him, it had become a very stark truth in his life.

“Sir.”

There had been _no_ way she had missed the frown on Roy’s face when Havoc had brought up—jokingly, of course—that Ed needed to be more careful where his eyes wandered, otherwise the Colonel was going to think that he had dishonorable intentions.

Edward had reacted predictably, of course, which undoubtedly had been Havoc’s intention, a red face and spluttering that turned into yelling that Roy did have to admit had no small amount of charm to it. But still, Havoc had meant it in jest. Roy had caught enough golden glances leveled in his direction to know that it was far more than that.

But Roy couldn’t think about that right now.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“You take so much on yourself.” Riza’s quiet voice never dances around the matter, not when Roy needs to hear it bluntly. “You’re human. You have much to accomplish, I won’t deny that, but never forget, being human is what separates us from so many of those we fight against. Don’t be afraid to let yourself care about others. No matter who they might be.”

It wasn’t that simple, and both of them knew it. Still, he thought as his eyes rested on her, then followed her gaze over to Edward—“ _You know I fucking outrank you; you wanna do my laundry? Huh?_ ”—it wasn’t a free pass, to forsake everything they were working towards. But it was an understanding, a trust in him, that he would know how far to go, and what lines to draw.

And he, in turn, could always trust her to tell him what he needed to hear.

—

That didn’t, of course, mean that Roy stepped in and swept Edward off his feet immediately.

There was still the very real possibility that this was nothing more than a teenager with a fleeting crush, and Roy was in no way going to encourage that, not if Ed didn’t want to approach him with it. For the sake of Ed’s pride, Roy pretended not to notice the sidelong stares—only when Ed thought Roy wasn't looking, of course—or the occasionally awkward attempts to linger after a report. Not that he wanted to be discouraging, but he was good enough with people to tell that he would have made things worse if he _had_ mentioned anything.

Though, after a month or two of this, he had to wonder if he was making the right decision.

It wasn't hard to see a change in Edward—all of the team noticed, and even Fuery seemed distressed at the ease with which Ed lost his temper—and only at Roy. Roy didn't realize quite how serious it had become until Ed stormed in after one particularly obnoxious mission (according to him) and declared that he was "fuckin' tired" of Roy "jerking his chain."

Roy, of course, had to bite back a response involving dogs, obedience, and a few more sentiments that were absolutely not safe for the office.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Fullmetal," Roy responded lightly. And he really didn't: while he might enjoy "jerking Edward's chain" to some degree, it was never to the point of causing him genuine distress.

"What, so you're telling me that you _didn't_ tell those other two state alchemists to follow along and make sure I wasn't getting into anything I shouldn't be? I fucking thought that you _trusted_ me more than that, you asshole—"

Roy straightened, eyes narrowing. "Who? Tell me exactly who they were, Edward."

Ed paused, watching Roy with something approximating surprise, mouth open slightly. It didn't even occur to Roy that it might be that he had actually used Ed's name; he was far too focused on what Edward had said. Though Roy wanted to wait for him to respond, the thought that someone, and someone from the military, might be spying on Edward, had him even more furious than he had expected. And, unexpectedly, he realized in some corner of his brain, it wasn't the thought that they might be using Edward to get to him. It was that someone might be going directly after Edward.

"I don't fucking—" Ed frowned, shifting, and under better circumstances, Roy would have found him utterly kissable, the anger dissipating to confusion and uncertainty as he realized that Roy might _not_ actually be the one out to get him. "So you're saying it wasn't you?"

"No." Roy didn't mean for his words to come out so forcefully, but the time for chain-jerking had long passed. "I trust you, Edward, implicitly. Perhaps not to cause damage, or trouble, but nothing I would _spy_ on you over. It's important that you realize that. If you had someone following you, I need to know about it. This could be trouble."

Ed watched Roy for several very long moments, and the room was utterly silent until he did. There was a shift, a small, subtle one, and Roy couldn't quite place his finger on it. When Ed nodded, however, he could nearly feel a collective breath of relief from everyone in the room.

And when he glanced over at Riza, he saw that she was watching him carefully. When he tilted his head, very slightly, she nodded.

"Fine, then," Ed muttered, but his scowl was nearly gone as he grabbed a chair and dragged it in front of the desk. "Let's talk about these jackasses, then."

—

Roy certainly didn’t expect Ed’s next efforts to involve an éclair, and frankly, the unfairness of it stung.

As did the fact that no one else seemed to notice.

True, Ed eating in Roy’s office wasn’t exactly a rare sight—the kid was a garbage disposal—but something _that_ suggestive, well… Roy wasn’t a man who believed in coincidences.

“So,” Ed continued, gesticulating wildly with his occupied hand, “this guy has the fuckin’ nerve to tell me, _why can’t you just transmute me a bunch of diamonds?_ Look, man, I don’t even like you; why would you _even_ think that I’m gonna do that for you?”

The only reaction any of them had was to the ridiculousness of the situation; not a single one so much as batted an eyelash at the fact that Ed was slowly and deliberately making his way through a very phallic pastry that seemed to drip cream filling with every bite.

And when Ed finally, _finally_ finished—

He started licking the stickiness off his fingers. Roy couldn’t catch a break.

“Doesn’t that taste like oil or somethin’?” Havoc muttered from a couple of chairs away, barely glancing up. Roy had to very quickly clamp down on his mind to avoid thinking about what automail fingers might taste like.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ed just scoffed, but his eyes made contact with Roy’s the moment he said it.

And his attempt to stop his thoughts failed immediately.

Unfortunately, this failure did not end with Edward Elric.

There were good days, and then there were bad days. And then there were bad _weeks._ Weeks that were filled with the echoes of screams when he closed his eyes and his thoughts wandered, when he could smell the echoes of burned flesh. When the mere thought of going home to rest and what it would bring left him utterly cold. When his only option was to stay late at the office, working on his dreaded paperwork and kept company by a bottle of golden whiskey that eventually got him drunk enough to head home—if he did at all.

He wasn’t sure which night in a row this was—fifth, maybe sixth—but he was fully prepared for it to go the way of the others when, as he reached for his whiskey bottle, his normally dexterous fingers fumbled, sending it tumbling to the ground.

It shattered, sending glass and liquid flying across the room in every direction.

Roy froze for several moments, staring blankly at the gleaming liquid mess as his tired mind, already operating at reduced capacity from a glass earlier, attempted to process what had just happened.

And then a wave of anger, of frustration, of _helplessness_ washed over him, and he didn’t _care_ that it was only a bottle of alcohol, he could only think that it was _gone_ and he had _needed_ that and without realizing it he had grabbed his glove and shoved it on and pressed his thumb and middle finger together and—

“Roy?”

A quiet voice chinked through his haze, and he froze again, eyes wide, still staring at the mess. It would only take the briefest of motions, barely more than a breath of effort, and the alcohol would be consumed, the glass melted to shapeless blobs, the evidence of his failure reduced to a disgusting, filthy black smeared crater—

“Hey, Roy, fuckin’ look at me.”

 _That_ shattered it, with even more thoroughness than the floor had the bottle, and Roy inhaled sharply, hand relaxing and lowering, eyes wide as he turned to see Ed standing in the doorway.

“Heard something break in here. Everything okay?”

They both knew the answer to that question.

“What are you doing here, Fullmetal?” Roy’s voice was not as nearly assured as he preferred it to be when dealing with Edward, or anyone else, for that matter. He hated the way it sounded hollow, worn, so much older than he should have been.

“Working late.” Edward’s voice, in contrast, was strong and steady, young but firm and assured. Roy felt himself grabbing onto it like a lifeline. “Just like you’ve been for the past week.”

Roy took a few breaths before he spoke. He hadn’t seen Edward; had he really been that unaware?

“Have you been here? All this time?” he finally asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah.” Ed barely breathed the word, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind him. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need an eye on me,” Roy snapped, shaking his head and tugging off his glove. “I _need_ to clean this up and go out and—”

“You’re not buyin’ more.” With a quick clap of his hands, Ed’s alchemy flashed across the floor, gathering all of the glass pieces into a shape that Roy couldn’t quite make out. The whiskey seemed to evaporate and then reform into some kind of plant—barley, maybe, or wheat—hell if he knew; Jean was the country boy of the office.

“You know,” he finally said, irritation not yet completely faded, “if you were going to do that, you could have put it back in the bottle.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have been able to make you this.” Ed stepped forward, scooping up the glass, and holding it out. When Roy got a good look at it, he could see that it was a horse, rearing on its hind legs, little bits of color flecked within the glass that he assumed were parts of the label.

Ed grinned cheekily. “It’s a mustang.”

“It has a horn and bat wings.”

“Details.” Ed set it on the desk, and Roy’s eyes followed the movement listlessly. “Hey, you gonna be okay?”

“Fine,” Roy croaked out, but even if Ed hadn’t been extraordinarily perceptive, he would have been shocked if he had been even remotely convincing.

He didn’t realize that he was staring off into nothing, into _memories_ , until Ed’s hands reached up to take his face. Though the automail beneath the glove was an unusual sensation, the warmth of Ed’s real hand brought him back, and he realized that he was staring down into golden eyes.

For a moment, his mind screamed at him that their lips were dangerously close, and he nearly yanked away, gasped at Ed that _he couldn’t do this_ , but he couldn’t find the words before Ed tugged him forward and he found his nose buried in red cloth as Ed’s arms slid around his back, holding him close.

His eyes fluttered shut as he tucked his face into the crook of Ed’s neck, inhaling. There were hints of leather and oil, of course, but he had never been this close, had never known that Ed also smelled like sunshine.

In some corner of his mind, he noticed that Ed wobbled slightly, standing on his toes, and right then his knees decided that they didn’t want to support his weight anyway, so he sank down slowly, lifting his own hands underneath Ed’s arms to rest on his back and pulling him along. Ed didn’t seem to mind, and his muscles tensed as he pulled Roy tighter, wrapping around him protectively.

Roy inhaled shakily; it had been such a long, long time since someone had held him like this, like they would never let anything in the world harm him, that Roy couldn’t even remember when it had happened last. And if anyone could have done it, if anyone had to see him like this, he was glad it was Edward.

He nuzzled forward, feeling the bumps of the automail screws and port against his face, and he couldn’t remember the last time something had felt so much like home.

—

Though no one mentioned the small glass horse that now called his desk home, to Roy, it was a constant reminder that everything had changed.

It was subtle at first, and he really only noticed Ed leaving when Roy did because he was looking for it. And it did lead to company in the evenings, someone to chat with while he went through his monotonous drudgery, the only thing enjoyable _about_ that paperwork.

And it was lighthearted and humorous—talk about Al’s recent attempts to befriend cranky felines, or the dent Ling had put in his wallet with his eating habits. Roy found that humorous, anyway; Ed, not so much. He did confess that he did wonder about the nature of their relationship, and even tried to convince himself that if it grew to something more that it would be good for Ed.

But he couldn’t _quite_ make himself believe it.

For his part, Ed didn’t ask outright, but he _knew_ that there was something Roy was hiding. Knew that there was a reason that Roy would sometimes zone out, stare out the window and need to be pulled back to reality with a gentle touch on his shoulder. Roy thought back to nights ago, when Ed had held him, and desperately wanted that again—though he hadn’t the faintest idea how to ask.

“I know you’ve got demons,” Ed said quietly. “I don’t want you to think you’ve gotta carry them alone. I want you to know that there are people who you can talk to about this.”

“I know, Edward.”

And he did. He knew that if this was going to go anywhere—god forbid, he tried to think, but it was halfhearted at best—he should, but—

But the thought of Ed knowing something like that about him, something buried deep for a _reason_ , before it was time…

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said softly.

He could see Ed’s shoulders slump, a little bit of the light go from his eyes. But the intensity never left.

“You’ll need to tell someone—someone else someday. And if you need, I’m here when you do.”

(Ed only mentioned Maes once. He never did it again.)

—

He knew the team thought Ed was angry, or at least displeased. He could tell from the glances in their direction when they thought he wasn’t looking, the subtle attempts to nudge them into friendly conversation—which Roy made sure worked; he didn’t want to _worry_ them—the occasional query of, “Is everything all right?” or something similar.

But he knew better. There was an intensity there, yes, but it wasn’t angry. It was _eager._ And it was there and very present whenever Roy was in the same room as Ed, and made even worse when he found it necessary to stay late.

It was only after he and Ed spent a late night poring over a particularly cryptic amalgamation of alchemical information, heads close enough to touch, that he realized: Ed was pushing because he wanted to _earn_ the knowledge.

But Roy—if he told him about Isvhal, he’d have to tell him about everything, and even saying the words aloud…

It was a secret that _had_ to be kept. But when he found himself turning and looking into those golden eyes, shining amber, he realized…

Edward Elric was a damn good replacement for whiskey.

Still, even with that look on his face, even with him being almost like a physical ray sunshine brightening his evenings, even with Ed’s attempts at suggestion growing—

“I have things to be doing, Fullmetal,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes when Ed stormed up to him, placed a hand on Roy’s paperwork, and leaned in so close that their noses were almost touching. Roy quickly berated himself for thinking eagerly of the proximity—

“Yeah, and that’s me.”

Roy froze for several seconds. Surely he had misunderstood—surely Ed hadn’t meant—

But Ed was still there, close enough—enough to _kiss_ , eyes burning into Roy’s.

It was all Roy could do to keep his face calm and slowly raise a single eyebrow.

Ed’s face slowly turned a deep red color, and Roy could feel himself relaxing. He had already won this standoff.

“That’s not what I mean, you asshole!” Ed snapped, scowling, and it was adorable. “I just meant—not like that! Goddamn!”

“Then how?” Roy asked slowly, almost drawling it.

He heard rather than saw Ed’s fingers grip the papers, sending them rustling, and then—

“Can I kiss you?”

It took Roy several moments to process the breathless request. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t something this direct—this _earnest._ His second eyebrow rose to join the first, and he stared at Ed in shock.

He should say no, he _knew_ he should, but Ed had asked, and god—

“Yes,” he breathed, and then clumsy, chapped lips met his.

It was a painfully obvious first kiss, but Roy lifted his hands to Ed’s face, tilting their heads slightly so their mouths fit better together. Ed’s eagerness was more than charming enough to make up for his inexperience, and while anything _too_ far along Roy would save for later, he couldn’t resist flicking his tongue out, just a little, to hear Ed’s startled noises of surprise.

And after, after a kiss that was sweeter and tenderer than anything Roy has had in a long time, they pulled away.

“That was awesome,” Ed gasped breathlessly.

Roy couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face as he tugged him in for another. “At least you don’t have to eat pastries suggestively anymore.”

“It was Fuery’s idea,” Ed mumbled against Roy’s lips, his own turning down slightly in that pout that Roy had so often wanted to kiss away.

So instead of worrying about what Ed had just told him, that there might be more going on within his team than he thought, he took the opportunity to do just that.

—

Much as Roy would have liked it to be, however, things weren’t automatically perfect. Though Roy began to _live_ for the nights Ed remained behind to help him, for the quiet, stolen kisses after hours that no one knew about (though they knew that _something_ had to have happened, the way the tension had broken suddenly), there was still the very real fact that Roy was Edward’s superior officer.

He had brought this up, multiple times—he was never quite sure that Ed understood the reality of the entire situation. Still, the way he acknowledged it, Roy had to allow himself to be convinced.

“Somehow I fuckin’ doubt that it’ll be any different whether you’re pining over me or actually doing the making out. And it’s not like you can reassign me. No one would give me the freedom to do what I need, for one, so I’d have to kick your ass, and people would wonder why. I bet they’d come to a conclusion that’s near the mark, but way worse than what we’ve already done.”

“You make an eloquent argument as ever, Edward,” Roy drawled, voice dry.

“Thank you.” And Ed’s way of thanking Roy, he had quickly learned, involved a brief, deep kiss with the barest hint of tongue and teeth before pulling back and going back to what he had been doing as if nothing had happened. Provided they were alone, of course.

Not that Roy had any complaints. Or arguments, for that matter. Any hesitation he had had—or still had—seemed to melt away with Ed’s matter-of-fact logic. It was a relief, really, the resignation that he was stuck with Ed, and in the best way possible. And Roy, for his part, had never seen Ed happier.

There were worse ways to be.

—

_Ed finds Roy when he comes back, back from Briggs, back from everything._

_They had both known this would happen, had both prepared themselves, or tried to, for the long stays apart, the unfair expanses of time with no contact or even any way of knowing if the other was still alive, with enemies around every corner. But that doesn’t make it any less painful._

_Or any less elating when one of them comes back alive._

_Roy doesn’t ask, not at first, what Ed had seen, what he had done. There’s enough in his eyes that Roy can tell it’s been much, far too much, more than any sixteen-year-old has any right to have seen._

_But Ed has endured, Ed has done_ more _than that, and he has come back._

_Mouths meet in desperation, any inexperience or uncertainty tempered out by familiarity and time, long nights in gentle intimacy that had never crossed some lines, but now—_

_Now Ed’s hands find Roy’s shirt, discard it; now Roy’s slide underneath Ed’s, peeling it to reveal a map of scars and stories that are far too many to share in a single night, and a single night is all they have, all they might ever have, if the Promised Day comes to fruition._

_“And I wanna spend it with you,” Edward gasps in his ear as they stumble backwards to the bed._

_Legs, one real and one artificial, wrap around Roy’s waist. Hands, both flesh, slide up ribs, around to a back planed with hard-earned muscle, and draw two scarred torsos together. Fingers, some warm, some metal, make their own maps of marks_ _left_ _from battles won—or at least not lost._

_And as they tumbled down together, Roy closed his eyes, nose buried in the crook of Ed’s neck, and breathed him in._

_Because they had each other tonight._


End file.
